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I Am Not Infinite, But Surely, I Am Forgiven
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I've coloured this picture for you; yellow-
flowers who brush against my shoes.
No supple, petaled breast may fall before-
each stride I bear against the breeze,
that sweeps me through the speckled, waving seas-
of endless green, punctured with gold.
Though I would soon uproot their lives to show-
my heart in every glowing bud,
I would not dare contrast their writhing forms-
to ageless beauty you invoke-
with every word, you take my breath,
and every breath you save, you give-
me reason yet again, to rise at dawn.
For in your absence, I find hope,
and in your presence, begs me cage your light.
Though while apart my sorrow digs,
it leaves far bigger trenches for love to fill.
Though tongue and lip may feather bird,
only your blood may bid it fly, within-
the timeless piece of me that's kept-
for such tender lips, who kiss fate's eyes shut.
'Til the white wings of death scatter our days-
Then we shall fill each other's cup.
Wes Thompson
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Wes Thompson
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